(it is never) just a one-time thing
by MyVintageLove
Summary: A one-time thing. She pulled on his lips like her life depended on it, she didn't fake the breathless moan, she couldn't fake all the feelings put into that one kiss. He refuses to believe this was a one-time thing.


His nose brushes against hers, breathing her in, his lips searching for hers, searching for a second kiss that doesn't come. He already misses her against him, skin cold where her mouth was only seconds ago. He wants to kiss her, again and again, until she's breathless, until he knows her by heart. He wants it, needs it, lips so close but not close enough.

"A one-time thing," she whispers.

She doesn't mean it, not really, he can hear it in her voice, in the half-hearted tone. She doesn't mean it, she's confused, he gets that. But her hands let go of his coat, almost painful, as she takes a step back. His already shattered heart breaks, millions of little pieces falling to the ground, because it can't be true.

No. You can't break what's already broke. And his was beyond repairs since Milah.

So why, why does he feel like the world just ended, why does he feel so empty, so cold? How did she manage to steal his heart, to heal it, only to break it again? Who does she think she is to do such a think without him even noticing?

He tries to be angry but can't, tries to erase the feelings but can't, and is left in the middle of the forest in Never-bloody-land with a broken heart to mend and firewood to fetch.

A one-time thing. She pulled on his lips like her life depended on it, she didn't fake the breathless moan, she couldn't fake all the feelings put into that one kiss.

He refuses to believe this was a one-time thing.

.

"Mum!"

Emma barely has time to open her arms before Henry throws himself at him, knocking the air out of her lungs with a groan. They're both laughing, nervous giggles bubbling out of their mouth, and he squeezes her until it hurts, arms around his neck.

"Told you Mission Cobra Rescue would be a success, kiddo."

He squeezes her tighter but doesn't respond, and Emma doesn't want to think about it – how he thought they were never coming to save him, how he could have been an orphan, a lost boy. She ignores the wetness on her top where he nuzzle against her, ignores her own tears running freely on his cheeks, too relieved to care, heart to full of love and my son my son _my son_.

Only when Regina coughs, with all the jealousy and possessiveness she has, do they break the hug and Emma nudges him toward his other mother for a well-deserved hug. Neal waits in line, which can only bring a smile to her lips because how could Pan think this boy could get lost when he has the biggest family ever.

Still, she's a bit at lost now, folding her arms against her chest and rocking on her hells slightly desperately.

"All right, love?"

Hook stands next to her, wiping his sword with a handkerchief – she doesn't know whose blood it is and doesn't find it in her to care – and looking at her worryingly. She goes for a shrug, as to tell him everything is fine, but a simple glance at him and she thinks better of it. There's no point in lying when he can see right through her.

"I don't like to share."

He chuckles lightly as his sword slides back in its sheath, but is enough of a gentleman not to comment, not even when she cringes as Henry hugs his father. She glances at him and he glances back, grinning. The smirk disappears when she suddenly hugs him, one arm around his neck and the other around his waist. All his muscles tense against her as he gasps, not daring to move for a while, before slowly wrapping his arms around her. She whispers her thanks against his neck, hot breath tickling his skin, to which he can only reply by kissing the top of her head. It's like all the stress and worry that's been nagging at her for days suddenly disappears, leaving her relieved and boneless in his arms.

She knows it's not over, Pan is not done with them yet, but Henry yelps a happy "Gramps!" behind her and all she can do is laugh and turn around in Hook's arms because they won that battle. _They won_.

He lets go of her when Henry runs back to her for yet another hug. He may be an eleven-year-old kid, with the weight of an eleven-year-old kid, but it doesn't stop her from carrying him as he cling to her like a koala to its branch. When she glances at Hook, it's with a nod, and he understands.

One-time thing again.

.

He has a room at Granny's because his ship may be his home but Killian Jones has never been one to refuse a good bed and a hot bath – or shower, in this case. Which also means he has all his meals at Granny's, slowly but surely becoming her favourite customer. Paying in gold and jewellery may help. That's how Emma finds him, at his habitual booth in the far corner of the room, his back to her, and she smirks as he jumps in surprise when she slides in the seat opposite his.

"Well good evening to you to, love," he says with his usual bravado and trademark smile. He only then notices the two beer glasses she brought with her and hums appreciatively as he takes one. "How was work?"

She takes a long sip of her own drink before answering. "Strangely uneventful. Still waiting for the psycho teenager to come and ruin my evening."

He smiles that crooked smile of his. "Let's hope not."

She still feels the need to tell him about her day, talking for the sack of talking, with hands gestures for emphasis. It doesn't fail to make him laugh, to have him asking for more details – about the people in town, about some piece of technology he doesn't know – and, not for the first time, his honest curiosity startles her. He's really interested in what she has to say, hanging onto every word she says – it's refreshing, having someone who listens, really listens to her for the first time in her life.

She doesn't realise how late it is until Ruby comes to hand them the menus, with a long glance at Hook and an appreciative wink at Emma.

"Just too cheeseburgers, please. Fries on the side."

Hook's eyes widen but he waits until Ruby is back behind the counter to speak up. "Don't you have anywhere else to be tonight, love?"

"Henry is at Regina's and my parents are…" She makes a face. "Having a go at that baby-making business." He's sensitive enough to hide his smirk by taking another sip of his beer. "So, no, nowhere else to be. Only you and me tonight, chap."

He doesn't point out that she could very well spend the night with Neal too. When Ruby brings them their food, they fall back into an easy conversation. Mostly him telling her about the Enchanted Forest, about his years as a pirate before becoming Hook. She finds herself laughing more often than not, sharing thief tricks with him, boasting about their skills. It's surprising, how easy it is to talk about that with him when she's trying to hide her past from everybody else. She even steals some of his fries, something he doesn't seem to mind.

They're about to order desserts when she realises she has slid in her seat until putting her feet on the seat next to him and his good hand in on her ankle, thumb drawing circles on her skin. It's so natural, like he doesn't notice he's doing it, that she doesn't point it out – if only by fear that he'd stop.

Ruby finally kicks them out when it's time to close and, always the gentleman, he walks her back to the apartment. Arms brushing but not quite touching, they walk in a comfortable silence until she stops in front of the door. She feels like a teenager, rocking on her heels and avoiding looking at him.

"Thanks, that was nice."

"Indeed it was." He leans closer to her, so close her breath catches in her throat. "We should do that again."

Only then does she realise what they've done, that this was _a date_ of all things. Her heart starts racing, her mind panicking, and she can only gives him a smile as her hand finds the door handle. "I don't think so." And she runs inside, upstairs, doesn't stop until she's in her bed, hiding under the blankets with her heart still racing like crazy.

She wonders. If she looks by the window, will he still be there?

.

Snow White throws a ball on Christmas Eve, because it's as good a reason as any, she says, but everybody knows it's just because she needs it, because she wants to feel like a princess again. So the city hall is decorated for the occasion and anybody who knows how to sew is to make dress and suits. Emma stifles a laugh when Snow complains about animals not being able to help her with her dress. ("Nobody knows how to make a petticoat like squirrels.") She's not exactly sure is her mother is joking or not, and that's the scary part.

Still, Granny works her magic and makes beautiful dresses for her girls – Emma isn't really fond of the whole 'Renaissance fair' vibe but she has to admit hers is amazing, soft under her fingers and a shade of blue that reminds her of _his_ eyes. She tries not to think how Granny may have done that on purpose because, really, she doesn't want to see her as a bored-out-of-her-mind-enough-to-become-a-matchmake r old lady. Rather, she focuses on how adorable Henry is in his suit, proud as a peacock with his waistcoat and cravat – especially since his clothes match David's and, seriously, could it be any cuter?

The ball is, of course, a success as everybody is dressed up to the nines and, for the first time, Emma really feels like she's living with fairytale characters – from Ariel and Eric too enwrapped in each other to leave the dance floor to the seven dwarves leaning side by side against a wall, it feels all too real. This is the life she could have had, the life that was stolen from her.

"Your Royal Highness?"

She jumps at the voice near her ear, hand on her heart as she turns around to find Killian standing there with an amused grin on his lips. She can't remember a single time he wasn't wearing black, so the red of his jacket stands out and… is that a white shirt? Buttoned up to the top? And no leather pants? The smirk threatens to appears on her lips at any moment especially since, his hooked arm behind his back and his other hand taking her, he bows to her and kisses the back of her hand.

"Captain," she plays along with a curtsey of her own, awkward and ungraceful at best.

"Would you grant me the pleasure of dancing with you?"

"Only one dance, then."

He rolls his eyes – how predictable she is – but leads her to the dance floor with his hand on her lower back. He knows how to dance, years of good education and etiquette that piracy can't erase; she can't. So he leads the way, one hand in hers and the other around her waist, counting the steps under his breath until she finds her pace. She even manages not to look at her feet, which is a success in itself.

"Isn't it against the pirate law to wear anything but black?"

"Isn't it against every law in every realm to look that stunning in a gown?"

Her cheeks grow red in an instant, bringing that coy 'I did good' smile to his lips. She leans against him, cheeks against shoulder and his hand slide to settle on her back. One song becomes two become all night long in each other's arms, until the band finally stops and only a few couples are left in the hall.

"I thought it was only one dance," he says cheekily.

"Never said how long it would last," she replies with a wink.

.

It happens on the Jolly Roger, hurried and passionate. Clothes are scattered with haste, between kisses and breathless laughs and teeth grazing on skin. They fall on the bed in a fist of giggles, like teenagers on prom night, and he kisses every inch of skin, licks every freckle, worships her body like a temple. They fight for dominance until they're on the edge of the bed, ready to fall, Emma admitting defeat.

"Just once," she breathes.

He isn't quite sure if she's speaking of him on top or of them fucking. It doesn't matter. She's bad at those threats anyway, has broken each and every one of them since their first kiss back in Neverland. So he only chuckles against her navel, bites at her hipbone. "As you wish."

When he wakes up the next morning, she's (unsurprisingly) gone with a note on the pillow. "One-time thing" she wrote with a little heart. He stares at it for a long time before falling back against his own pillow with a grin on his face.

.

He sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep off his eyes and waiting for them to get used to the darkness before looking for his clothes. The alarm clocks on her bedside table reads 4am so he has time to sneak out of the apartment without fear of waking someone up – he has done it before, tonight isn't any different. He's about to stand up when her hand brushes against his back, stopping him, and he turns around to face her. She always sleeps on her stomach after sex, snuggling her pillow, her blond hair fanning around her. It looks silvery in the moonlight, making her even more of a princess that she already is.

"Come back to bed, Killian." Her voice is soft and sleepy, barely more than a low mumble. She doesn't have to say it twice, thought, for him to slide back under the blanket next to her. She trades her pillow for his chest, moving his arm until it's wrapped around her shoulder and laying her hand on his stomach. "Don't get used to it."

He kisses the top of her hair, settles into a more comfortable position. "I would never dare."

.

She reacts like any other woman would react: wide eyes and hand on her mouth, gasping for air in surprise, unable to answer at first. But when she stays silent for longer than he'd expected, he jumps back on his feet and puts his hand on her shoulder in worry. He's probably broken her, a stunned look on her face.

"Emma?"

"Are you serious?" she hisses. Which isn't a good sign. At all.

"Yes?" It sounds more like a question than an affirmation and she raises an incredulous eyebrow. "I mean, yes. Of course yes, I wouldn't be asking otherwise."

Her eyes widen even more, if it's even possible, but she finally closes her mouth. He can read the emotions – confusion, fear, surprise – on her face as her mind is bombarded with contradictory thoughts, and he worries she's going to shut down any time soon, let her walls back up between them. That's why he lets go of her arm, no matter how painful it is to him, because it's what she needs right now. He doesn't regret asking, not really; he knows her well enough not to take offense in her reaction.

She stares down at that ring she knows too well for seeing it at her mother's finger every day since they met. It's not just a ring, it's an object with a high sentimental value, passed down from generation to generation, and she has no idea how Killian convinced Snow to give it to him.

Of course, he finds a way to break the tension.

"I swear this is a one-time thing. I won't ask again."

It is too much, it is all too much, with his smirk and his bright eyes and the love she can read on his face. So a laugh bubbles out of her, then another, until she's laughing almost hysterically. She doesn't realise she's crying until he brushes the tears from her cheeks and then she can't stop, laughing and crying and falling in his arms.

"Is that a yes?" She nods against his shoulder, nods until he hugs her. And then he kisses her, mouth and cheeks and nose and neck, kisses her until she's breathless, until her lips are swollen. His hand is trembling with emotion when he puts the ring on her finger, yet he can't help but being his snarky self. "What did you say, back in Neverland? It was only a kiss?"

Even laughing, she hits him on the shoulder.


End file.
